Maybe Fiona
by Queen Luana
Summary: Married now and with the Blight far behind them, Alistair begins to think of having a family. She, however, is not that excited about the idea. Woman. Elf. Mage.


**Queen Luana: **Another Dragon Age: Origins one-shot. I really like doing these, got several more ideas up my sleeve, but those are for later. Woman. Elf. Mage. You killed Connor. You killed Loghain. You made Anora queen. Alistair performed the Dark Ritual with Morrigan. Those are the only relevant ones, I think. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, I reread it several times but sometimes those suckers just seem to slip through. Also, any suggestions for other fanfics are always welcome.

* * *

><p>"I was thinking maybe Fiona."<p>

She found her lover undressing in their tent, stripping off his armour and nestling on his mat. It didn't take long before she grasped what he was after so she turned around and watched the fire crackle. The nights were getting colder. Deep in the dark of night the frost would crawl into their tent. She'd wake to the clattering of his teeth and was always the one to rise and get the fire going again. He was almost like a child that needed guidance, someone to hold his hand and praise him at every turn.

This was nothing new, though. She hadn't expected it to be anything different. She didn't want it to either. They'd been on the road together for two years now, just the two of them together. After the Blight had ended, even though being Grey Wardens at heart, they'd given themselves the luxury of fading to the background, feeling they had earned a quiet existence, at least until Thedas called for their aid once more. But their time of playing errand boy and girl, solving quarrels and catching thieves, had come to an end when she'd sunk her blade into the Archdemon's head. They'd gotten married in Redcliff once Alistair had returned from Highever and had opted for a not so sedentary live, leaving the next day at the crack of down to be together, just together.

The past few weeks, however, things had begun to change. She expected it was the excitement of their marriage wearing of that had caused Alistair to speculate much more about the future. She, despite being the youngest, knew what it meant to be a Grey Warden, and preferred to live in the moment, cherishing every breath of clean air, every sound of leaves crisping underneath her boots. As a mage she'd been locked in that dreadful tower most of her life, never hearing the sound of a bird's whistle or smell fresh flowers. She'd never before been able to chug down a mug of stale ale in a crowded pub; she'd never seen a dwarf. She'd never lived until Duncan.

"Did they ever tell you about her?" the blond asked stretching on his mat. "She was also a mage, and an elf. Duncan told me about her. She was there when he went through his joining." He rubbed his hands together and breathed warm air into them. "The sooner we get back to Redcliffe, the better."

And so it had been for the past month or so. He'd try to casually drop a few hints here and there, mention a name he thought was beautiful, and then expected them to be subtle ways of touching base. Not only were they painfully punch-you-in-the-face obvious, her poker face was awful, so every time he blurted out a name of a well known Grey Warden, the only way to avert the subject was for her to turn around and pretend she didn't hear. She figured it was no use ignoring him any longer, so she put her hands on her hips and faced him. "We ought to talk."

He flashed her that saintly look he always mustered when he'd been caught. "About what?" He squinted. "Before you say anything, I would just like to point out that it's been _very_ cold and—"

"That's not it." She crouched down into their tent and sat down beside him. "Alistair. We're both Grey Wardens."

"See, every time a discussion starts with 'we're Grey Wardens' I can tell it's not going to be fun. Alistair, we can't get a puppy, we're Grey Wardens. Alistair, you can't have that shield, it's pink, and we're Grey Wardens. I get to be on top, because we're Grey Wardens."

She cast him a look that she knew made her look taller. She'd always disliked being smaller than him due to her elven stature and the fact that he could basically lift her off the ground with one hand. "I don't know if I want children, Alistair."

He frowned, then smiled that half-crooked smile he often did, then frowned again. He was trying to figure out what to say but had seriously been unprepared for such a direct approach. There was a shudder in his voice when he at last uttered only two words: "Why not?"

So she told him. She told him about how she herself had been sent off to the circle when she was just a young child, and how she could hardly remember her mother. With such a negative experience with parenthood to begin with she didn't see the appeal in starting one herself. On top of that there was the taint, just trying to conceive a child would be stressful and very demanding on the both of them. And if they did conceive, how long would it take them and how long would they have left to watch the child grow? What if Thedas needed the Grey Wardens once more? Would they abandon their duty over their own selfish need for a child and a family? Something they'd known from the start they'd never be allowed to have? Was it not enough that they had both lived to see the end of the Blight?

Alistair was silent as she spoke, pressing his fingers together and listening intently to everything she had to say. Even when she had finished, he said nothing. He turned his head and watched the fire for a moment. "You're right," he then said. "Of course you're right." He rolled onto his side so his back was facing her.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything. She lay down beside him and pressed her nose into the nape of his neck as a silent apology. She did love him; the way someone could love someone. Her first steps into the outside world had been taken with caution. She'd lived a life filled with the constant reminder of the fragility and mortality of her loved ones. Many of the people she'd come to care for and felt affectionate towards had either ended up being slain by the Templars to prevent them from becoming abominations, or had been made tranquil, in order to protect themselves from their own weak mind. Bearing that in mind she'd always been wary in his presence. First of all he was human. Though she had befriended humans in the Circle, such as Jowan, an outsider was something completely different. Back in the Tower she'd found they shared a bond because they were all outcasts, imprisoned because they were feared by the Chantry, and mostly even their own family. In such a way, they had been all the same; they were all victims chained down by the Chantry's laws. But Alistair was no mage. He was of the same race that had suppressed and enslaved elves for centuries and so could not be trusted to treat her as an equal.

But most importantly, Alistair was a Templar, be it a former one, and she'd always found them unpredictable. They were the kind of people who'd greet you in corridors, even address you with a certain level of caring and familiarity, only then to strike you down without the flick of an eyelid. This lifted to a whole new level of threat, causing her to keep a watchful eye from the start. Surely in time she'd learned that Alistair was different, but that little voice in the back of her head always kept on whispering 'once a templar, always a templar'.

And time and time again he'd proven her wrong. He did treat her as an equal, if not as more. Not once did he assume her elven nature to be a point of dispute. He'd caught her off guard at every turn. He would've made an excellent Templar had Duncan not recruited him; she would've gladly been deceived by him. Even she, with her hatred and malice towards Templars and outsider humans alike, had allowed her guard to drop in his presence. He'd changed her, in ways he probably didn't even realize.

A strong bitterness started to overwhelm her. She needn't have been so cold with him. He didn't deserve that; he'd never deserved that. She whispered his name, but he did not respond. She did so again, louder this time, but either he was asleep or pretending to be, so she laid her head down and closed her eyes.

She awoke not from the cold but from Alistair rising to his feet and getting dressed. It was early twilight and a fog had settled between the trees. She rubbed her eyes wearily and watched him rub wood together in order to get a fire going. It wouldn't work in this weather, the branches were too damp. Telling him that wouldn't help. So she got up as well.

The road passing by the former Lothering, a city turned to ashes, was a beautiful sight to behold in fall. The color scheme of the falling leaves engulfed the land in an ocean of red and brown shades. She lifted up her skirts when they passed through the dew and mist and her hair hung down in long wet strands. There was so much beauty in this world for people who allowed themselves to open their eyes every now and then, and not be afraid. Morning light was always quiet. Bandits often waited for their cloak of darkness as night began to fall. But even so, the two Wardens mostly kept off the main roads, choosing stealth over speed, and had outmanoeuvred most ambushes. This was the benefit of travelling in so small a group. Back when they had still been an eight headed fellowship this had not been so easy.

They reached Redcliffe the very same day. The crimson cliffs stood tall above the village down below, engulfed in mist. The village was blooming now that the Blight had ended and the Arl was back in good health. Up on the bridge they could smell the scent of smoked fish rising up from the chimneys down in the valley; the fishermen were preparing for winter, as they all should. She'd always had mixed feelings about Redcliffe. It was beautiful in its own way, far different from the circle. There was no Alienage here, and she'd always rather there be no elves than seeing her brethren in chains. At the same time Redcliffe had its own unpleasant history. There was Jowan, who she had not seen since she'd released him from his sell and had told him to run. Then there was the human boy, who despite being human and of royalty, which were always the worst beings, she'd felt a connection to. He'd been alone and vulnerable, with no one who understood him so he'd dwelled into the demon's world and been enslaved. He was a victim, just like she had been, and if anyone it should have been his mother that was punished for it. But the boy had been drawn into the Fade for too long and too far, so she'd had no choice.

As always, they were welcomed at the castle as honoured guests. Bann Teagan was inside, as if he'd been anticipating their arrival, and opened his arms widely as they walked in. "Alistair, good to see you in good health!" he said, pulling him into an embrace and patting his back, something she'd seen many humans do and which she did not understand, even after so many time spent in human company. He straightened and smiled briefly in her direction. "My dear Warden."

She returned the smile because it was the polite thing to do and because that was how she was raised, but she wished he'd call her by her first name. Nevertheless it was a sign of companionship that she would have despised years ago but she now welcomed. Teagan ordered a maid to show them to their quarters and provide a clean and dry set of clothes. Any of the clothes they had were too big for her frail body so they ran a bath for her while they worked on readjusting the seams so it would fit. As she was bathing she realized how she and Alistair had not spoken a word since the previous night. She felt guilty. When the maids returned she quickly slipped into her robes, which fit perfectly now, except for the bottom dragging over the floor. She lifted the skirt and trod through the hall, to their chamber.

Alistair was sitting on the bed, dressed in fancier clothing than before with his armour resting on a chair in the corner. He had never been a very tidy man. He didn't look up from his book when she entered the room. She quietly crept onto the bed and snuck up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"A study of one of the Dalish Clans," he muttered, scratching his chin. "Eamon has the most amazing collection of literature and knowledge. Here-" He pointed out a part of text. "The Dalish live by a code known as Vir _Tanadayl—_"

She chuckled and corrected his pronunciation. "Vir _Tanadahl_, the Way of the Three Trees."

"Right, it is made up out of three parts. Fly straight and do not waver. Bend but never break. Together we are stronger than the one." He pondered on this a moment, then looked at her. "Maybe your parents were Dalish."

She pecked his cheek. "I was left as a toddler in a crate by Lake Calenhad. The Dalish aren't so willing to give up on their mages. They are one of the few people in this world who consider magic an art and a gift, something be preserved and nourished, not a curse that should be locked away and forgotten about." She ran a finger across the leathery pages. "What would you do if it was a mage?"

He looked at her for a moment. "We'd have you as a counsellor."

She gazed into his eyes. "Would you allow yourself to harbour an apostate, hunted by the Chantry? Part of you is still a Templar, even if it's a part you've suppressed for so long. Or would you send it off to the Circle? Have it live a life of imprisonment and restraint only to have it be made tranquil?"

He took her hand, kissed it. "You worry too much, do you know that?" He placed the book on the nightstand next to the bed and turned to her. He studied her face. "I guess the reason why I want a family is because I never really had one myself. I mean, there was Eamon, and he cared for me, but that's about it." He squeezed her hands tightly. "I understand you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid—"

"You are. That's fine." He cupped her face in his hands, stroke a single hair from her face. "You've come this far by being strong and studying the world around you and adapting to its dangers. You've been brave, you've endured and came out victorious." He smiled. "You're afraid because this is something even you can't control."

She pressed one cheek into his hand and closed her eyes.

"I'm not asking you to give us a happy ever after. Ever since I've met you, you've done your very best to control the world. You never lost grip on your own life. Even though everything in this world tried to push you closer to the edge, you never faltered. Every day you stood rooted to the earth prepared to deflect anything that could possibly harm you. You were a tank, immovable and determined." He leaned in closer. "All I'm asking you now is to leap."

Their lips met and she felt her heart had caved in. He pressed her down onto the linen and she surrendered. She was vulnerable again, as vulnerable as that faithful night twenty or so years ago, when she lied there in a crate, abandoned, alone, crying for help, searching for a voice, something she knew, completely and fully depending on the good will of others. Now, in his arms, as vulnerable as she may've been, she'd never felt so secure.

)-(

Alistair rested his head on her belly, a blissful smile on his face. "This is it. I know it."

She wanted to tell him how impossible it was for him to know, but figured there was no need to call him on his naivety. Instead she stroked his hair and waited to drift off into sleep.

Not keen on spending the winter on the road in the frost and snow, they accepted Eamon's offer to stay in Redcliffe and aid the guard. She learned that Redcliffe was beautiful in winter, when the rooftops were white and the water in the harbour would freeze in the cold of night.

Snow flakes came floating down one morning, when she descended into the valley, thickly wrapped in robes and cloak. The winter was at its coldest now and people didn't leave the warmth of their homes unless they really needed to. Nevertheless Alistair had left early to head down to the Chantry and meet up with the guards who were making sure everything went swell. Criminality often reached a peak during the coldest of months because there was little food and shelter. Her toes had gone numb and her nose was a soft red when she finally reached the village. The sleet soaked her robes and she waded through several inches of snow to reach the Chantry. Most of the guards had gathered around a fire and were warming their hands, shivering because of the cold. One of the sisters was handing out hot tea to the villagers. Despite the cold spirits seemed high. The few children that were outside were throwing snowballs and making snow angels, the people drinking tea were huddled together and laughing.

It took her a while before she finally spotted Alistair. He was wrapped in a thick fur cloak himself and watched the young ones play. Several people looked round when she passed by, she must have been quite a sight, such a small thing wrapped in clothes and with only a tiny pink face showing from underneath her hood. She threw back her hood when she reached him and he looked at her in surprise.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with the castle guards today."

She was shivering, but smiled nonetheless, a broad type of smile she could not suppress, even though she was cold and her nose was runny and her eyes were watery from the icy wind. Alistair had to smile at how goofy she looked right then, in a cloak that was way too big for her with her pointy ears all pink from the cold.

"What is it?" he asked again.

She nodded. "I like Fiona," she said and nodded again. "I think Fiona would do just fine."


End file.
